As the World Churns Read Online Free

I’d taken care of my personal problem-i.e., gotten her accepted as a team member on a yearlong expedition to Antarctica. In the meantime, I had a business to run.
        “Welcome to the PennDutch Inn,” I called out, ever the mistress of false gaiety.
        “Howdy. I’m Harry Dorfman.” A beefy man with very little neck and flyaway eyebrows proffered a paw as coarse as an artichoke.
        “And I’m Harmon,” said another beefy man with very little neck and flyaway eyebrows, but whose hand felt like a pineapple.
        My sigh of relief ruffled both sets of eyebrows. “Your reservation just said ‘the Dorfmans.’ I was expecting a married couple, not identical twins. Or is one of you a clone?”
        Harry laughed. “Yeah, we’re about as identical as twins can get. Even our wives can’t tell us apart.”
        “Except for one thing,” Harmon said. “On that score we ain’t identical.”
        “Excuse me?”
        “Harry has him a birthmark in the shape of Uzbekistan on his left thigh, and I ain’t married.”
        At least that is what I thought he said. However, my ears were ringing, the world seemed to be closing in on me, and I felt like throwing up. Harmon Dorfman might have said anything.
        “Are you all right, ma’am?”
        “What?”
        “You look like you’re about to pass out,” one of the twins said. I could barely see their faces, much less focus on their lips, so identifying the identical speaker was impossible.
        “You better sit down, ma’am,” the other said.
        “Don’t be silly, dears. I’m fine as frog-” I teetered. I tottered. I did everything but topple. Sure enough, a minute or two later I was feeling fine again, just not as fine as amphibian hair. I attempted a smile. “You see?”
        “Miss Yoder,” Harry said, “I’m going to call your doctor.”
        “You most certainly are not.”
        “But you’re obviously not well.”
        “Well, shmell-” Another truck towing a trailer was about to pull into my drive. “I’ll be fine. I promise. Right now I suggest that one of you run ahead and reserve the stall of your choice, and the paddock that you like best. I’m assigning them on a first-come-first-served basis.”
        The nature of competition being what it is, both men made a beeline for the barn.
        
        I was feeling much better by the time the next couple finally presented themselves for introduction. The Pearlmutters had obviously been having some sort of disagreement, and had remained in the cab of their truck while attempting to wrap things up. Eventually, reconciliation gave way to embarrassment, but when I shook hands with them I could smell the lingering scent of anger.
        The Pearlmutters drove an expensive new truck and their livestock trailer was top-of-the-line. Jane Pearlmutter, however, was dressed in clothes that would have been rejected by every Goodwill store in the nation-excepting one in eastern
Alabama
. Her stringy, dishwater blond hair was pulled back from her face and held in place by a pair of brown plastic barrettes. Her blotchy pink skin was devoid of foundation, her pale blue eyes unadorned by mascara, and her thin lips the color of boiled liver. I live amongst plain people, and am plain myself, but one has to really work to look this bad. Based on these rather generous observations, I deduced that either she was exceptionally devout and had taken vows of both poverty and homeliness, or else was so wealthy that she could afford to have no pretensions whatsoever. Then I remembered that her tall, dark, and handsome husband, Dick, was a retired stockbroker, which answered that question for me.
        “Welcome to the PennDutch,” I said warily.
        “I’m Dick,” he said. “And this is my wife, Jane. We’re here for the first annual Hernia Holstein Competition. Is this the right place?”
        “Indeed it